Betrayed by Blood, Claimed by the Alpha-Chapter 137

Betrayed by Blood~

Alaric sat at the head of the long wooden table, his fingers placed beneath his chin as he listened to the voices around him. The meeting had been going on for hours, filled with talk of power shifts, alliances, and more importantly, Matt’s disappearance.

Twenty alphas from across the region had gathered, all of them uneasy, all of them aware that things were changing—perhaps faster than they had anticipated.

"The fall of Silvermoon leaves a dangerous void," one of the older alphas was saying. "And now, with Matt missing, it’s clear someone is moving against us."

Another alpha scoffed at the older alpha’s words. "Someone? What’s the use of being vague when we can outrightly mention who is moving against us. It’s Alpha Cain. There! I said it."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

"Exactly! The news has spread far and wide, farther than any of you might think," another alpha growled. He leaned forward, his features set in a scowl. "Cain took Silvermoon with blood and fire. He slaughtered warriors, forced the survivors into servitude, and now rules over two packs as if it were his right. Do any of you understand the implications of this?"

"We understand well enough," Alpha Bernard cut in sharply. "The real question is, what are we going to do about it? We cannot sit by and allow him to dismantle the balance of power in this region." His gaze swept across the room.

A younger alpha snorted. "And what do you propose? That we march our armies into Vehiron and demand he hand Silvermoon back? You may be willing to throw your warriors to the slaughter, but I am not."

"So you would rather sit on your ass while Cain expands his reach?" Bernard snapped. "Are you that much of a coward?"

The younger alpha bristled. "I’m not a coward. I’m realistic! Cain isn’t just any alpha. He has spent years shaping his warriors into a force stronger than any of ours. He doesn’t just recruit wolves—he conditions them. Have you seen the way his men fight? They don’t hesitate. They don’t question. They obey. If we march against him unprepared, we will lose."

Alaric remained silent, his expression unreadable, though his mind was anything but still. He had known this was coming. The whispers had reached the palace at dawn. Cain had done more than just defeat Silvermoon; he had stripped it bare, claiming its warriors, its land, and, worst of all, its people.

"In any case, this cannot be allowed to continue," another alpha barked, his voice sharp with anger. "We must find a solution to this! The world is watching us, Your Majesty! It is unheard of for an alpha to own two packs within the same region. Cain cannot lead Vehiron and Silvermoon. It’s impossible."

"Impossible?" Another scoffed. "Are you blind? Vehiron was already the largest pack in the region, and yet it continues to grow. People from other packs willingly join him, despite knowing how brutal the man is. He doesn’t just control Silvermoon—he controls the region. He has already won."

"And you think that’s acceptable?" Alpha Bernard snapped, slamming a fist against the table. "Do you not see the power imbalance this will bring? If we allow this to go on, Cain will be unstoppable. There is already talk in the streets—wolves whispering that the king does nothing, that we sit idly by while a warlord carves up the land as he sees fit."

"Alpha Bernard," a voice cut in, dark and warning, "watch your tone."

The room tensed as Bernard bowed his head toward Alaric, though his jaw remained tight with barely restrained anger. "Forgive me, my king, for speaking out of turn," he said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "But this is a crisis we can no longer ignore. Cain gaining control over Silvermoon is bad news."

Another alpha scoffed. "Who says he has control? Has there been any official declaration? Before he can fully take over, Alpha Matt would have to be dead. And as far as we know, Matt ran with his tail between his legs. He’s in hiding. Cain isn’t getting to him anytime soon." He gestured sharply. "What we should be focusing on is stopping Cain from finding Matt."

The alphas continued to argue among themselves, their voices rising and falling, but Alaric remained still, his fingers tapping against the polished wood of the table. He was listening.

Suddenly, the doors burst open with a loud bang.

The alphas jumped in their seats, some reaching for their weapons out of instinct. A guard rushed inside, his face pale, his breathing uneven as he sprinted toward Alaric.

"My king," the guard panted, his voice strained. He leaned in close, whispering urgently. "There’s been... a delivery."

Alaric’s brows furrowed, but before he could respond, another commotion erupted at the entrance.

The guards stationed outside the meeting hall yelled in protest, their voices barely masking the heavy thud of boots against the floor. A man—dressed in the dark colors of a Vehiron warrior walked in without permission, he paused at the door for a second, his eyes flickering about the room.

A hush fell over the room as every alpha turned toward the intruder.

The man paid no attention to their outrage. He dragged something behind him, something heavy—a large, cloth-covered object, stained dark with fresh blood. The smell was unmistakable.

The alphas tensed, some already looking sick with realization.

Alaric slowly stood, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"

The warrior bowed curtly, "A messenger from Vehiron. Alpha Cain wants you to know that he now owns Silvermoon."

With that, he flung the object onto the table with a sickening thud. Blood splattered across the polished wood, droplets landing near the hands of the nearest alphas.

A few of them recoiled in horror.

The cloth slid away.

And there—staring up at them with lifeless eyes—was Matt’s severed head.

A few alphas cursed under their breath, some shoving back from the table as if distance could erase the gruesome sight before them. Others simply sat in stunned silence, their throats too tight to form words.

Alaric, however, didn’t move. His expression remained carefully unreadable, though his grip on the table tightened, knuckles turning white.

The messenger bowed again and walked out of the hall, leaving the men shocked to their core.